


Saudade

by Nemainofthewater



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Don't copy to another site, Eliot is having a hard time, Gen, M/M, changes, post-monster fic, you can't go back the way you came
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 17:16:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18211250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Saudade/souˈdädə/: a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves.Five things that the Monster leaves behind. Set in some nebulous post-series 4 time.





	Saudade

1-Weakness

 

When the Monster is finally forced out of his body, Eliot thought that it would be over. The months of sneaking around in his own head, infiltrating the Monster’s memories. If there’s anything he’s truly talented at, it’s repression in all its forms.

 

So yes. It’s a bit disheartening that the first thing that happens

 

(after he’s opened his eyes and seen Q looking tired and worried and expectant and so present that he realises anew how pale and insubstantial and inadequate the memories of Quentin he’s been interacting with actually were)

 

when he tries to stand up is that he immediately collapses again.

 

“What the fuck?” he asks.

 

His body has erupted into a million aches, some more worrying (is his ankle broken? When did that happen? Ad what sort of idiot would keep walking on it anyway?) then others (he desperately needs to piss, oh my god).

 

For the first time he looks over himself. Feels the greasy strands of hair framing his face. His hands are rough and covered in blood, literally this time instead of figuratively (although he has no doubt that there is plenty of figurative blood on there as well). He has a mouth like sandpaper, and his skin is clammy, and his chest is tight, and he feels like his skin is too small to contain him, like he’s got an itch that he can’t scratch no matter how much he wants to no matter how hard he tries, and he’s going to vibrate out of his skin from the need the need the need the need the-

 

“Oh fuck,” he groans. He wants to roll over, but he can’t even move, “I’m going through withdrawal aren’t I. What the hell did the Monster do to my body?”

 

2-Fear

 

He can’t go back to the Physical Kids’ Cottage. He tried. But whenever he steps inside there’s a wave of despair and a stupid irrational fear that everything was just a fantasy his brain had conjured and that he’s still stuck inside his own head.

 

The Cottage has been his refuge, the only place that’s really felt like home for most of his life (in this timeline anyway, and he doesn’t think about another cottage, forever painted golden in his memories) and it’s like physical blow when he realises that this has been taken from him as well.

 

Penny23 of all people is the one who understands when he throws a hissy fit at the door of the Cottage and refuses to enter.

 

His eyes flicker like they can read what’s inside his head (and he can’t ok, because Eliot has reinforced his mental shields so much that it’s practically Fort Knox in there) and there’s a terribly soft look on his face. No Penny, from any dimension, has ever looked at him like that.

 

He doesn’t like it. Because this is another thing that’s changed since he’s been back.

 

3-Being feared

 

People flinch when they see him or go perfectly still and hyper-vigilant. He’s always been a tactile person, preferring to show his affection through touch, but now… Quentin allows it but the look on his face whenever he tries to affectionately cup the back of his neck, or raises his hand to stroke his cheek, or bring him into a hug… He allows it, that’s the worst part, but Eliot can see the stiffness in his posture, the fear and pain that he can’t quite hide. He quickly stops trying to touch him.

 

(Eliot still hasn’t gathered enough courage to talk to Quentin. Not properly. Not when he’s been reduced to a shell of his former self, unable to walk around without assistance, not when he feels so thoroughly broken-and why would he shackle Quentin to him when he’s like this? -and not when there’s always at least two people around him at all times, watching him, always watching him)

 

He convinces Margo to help him, not that it takes much convincing, and when he leaves the bathroom of Marina’s apartment scrubbed clean (he can still feel the grease, still feel the blood), hair trimmed, face clean-shaven and dressed in one of his habitual vests he can almost see the tension break.

 

He’s always been fastidious about his appearance.

 

If he spends hours in the shower, if he obsessively shaves throughout the day, making sure that his face stays smooth and stubble-free, if sometimes loses himself staring at his face in the mirror and wondering how much of it is him and how much is the Monster… Well. Everyone deals with trauma in their own way.

 

He thought the fear was bad: the pity that’s replaced it is even worse.

 

4-Shitty fast food

 

Why the hell does he keep getting cravings for cheese puffs?

 

5-Magic

 

He can’t live like this. Not forever. Eliot puts on a show, that’s what he does, but the masks are cracking, the actors are all drunk, the director’s missing and the theatre’s collapsing around him.

 

No one believes that he’s fine. Not even him. And in response he tries even harder to pretend that everything is fine, throwing himself into the ruse until he’s exhausted and can’t help but think longingly of the numbness that the pills hidden in the bathroom cabinet could bring, the relief in drowning his pain.

 

(Quentin caught him once with the small bottle of pills in his hand. He wasn’t going to take any-he wasn’t! - but the look on Quentin’s face, heartbreak and terror and resignation all in one, means that he doesn’t resist when Quentin gently takes the bottle away from him. The next day he can’t find them anywhere)

 

So yeah. All that tension has to go somewhere.

 

He can feel it when he finally snaps. When he loses control. Pain-physical and mental as he thinks about how he’s hurt his friends. Loss-he knows that people say you can’t go back but he had thought. He had thought. Well, he had thought wrong. Annoyance, as stupid and petty as that sounds. He’s not an invalid and he’d prefer not to live the rest of his days with at least two pairs of eyes on him at any moment. Despair-he’s irrevocable fucked up one of the best and kindest people he knows.

 

It all resonates through him and then radiates out and he can feel it, he knows what this is, he’s losing control again just like he did before, and he closes his eyes and thinks ‘stop’.

 

He opens them. Nothing is breaking. There are no screams. It’s all quiet.

 

Around him, everything not nailed down is suspended a foot off the ground, stuck in the air. Nothing is moving, not even trembling slightly. Eliot shouldn’t be able to do this. Not with the restricted flow of ambient magic the Library has left them with, not even before when things were less awful and his only concern the perfect cocktail recipe for the end of year party.  

 

“Hey Eliot.”

 

Eliot turns around. It’s Kady, who was evidentially on baby-sitting duty, looking at him with an excited gleam in her eyes.

 

“Looks like you’ve got some mojo left.”

 

She smiles, and it’s terrifying. It’s beautiful. It’s Kady.

 

“I’m going to need your help.”


End file.
